Hey! what’s the big idea! where do you get off sneaking up on my like that?! WTW is up wif you? I mean, really. No. I was not licking teh butters. No! I wasn’t even ON teh counter! I was just…well, yes. Maybe I was on the counter…BUT only to inspect your new, so called “Monster Traps.” Is that what you fink will save us from teh ferocious Butter Monster? Really? You fink coating tin cake pans wif delicious, wunnerful, buttery butter will entice this Fearsome Huntress…uh, I mean, Butter Monster out of her…um, ITS lair and IT will eat teh butters and knock over pans and make noise and and and, then what? Did you even this thru? Then teh Butter Monster will run and hide because of teh noise? The noise will alert the Police and the SWAT Teams who will come wif stun guns and haul teh Proud and Noble Butter Monster into a cage and then off to teh zoo and then Teh Day Will be Saved? Sirriously?! Is that your plan?
Yeah. Good luck with that.
Um. Yes. Well, I am on the counter, that’s tru. But I was NOT eating teh butters. NO! How could you say such a fing?!
I was just investigating the, um, teef marks. Yes, that’s it. Just look at that! Scary, isn’t it? Like some kinda MONSTER or sumfing was chewing on it. Wow. I’d be worried if I was you. In fact, I’m just going to hop down now…
Why are you looking at me like that? I’m only trying to help. You may want to call teh Extreeminators. Maybe you need a bear trap in here. Just sayin’. Jeeze.
Kitties! Kitties! Do you even remember me?!?! It’s ME! Sparkly Love Pants! Yes! really!!! I’m back from my horrible, horrible exile.
Here is how my long week started:
Mr. and Mrs. Whatsernames left AGAIN, but this time they decided to go on teh cheap and not pay the highly qualified Cat Warden to come feed us all wrong, like she do, and instead leave matters in the hands of The Childrens. I can’t help but notice how big they have become lately. Also how much times they spend slouching, eating, texting and eye rolling, so a vacation without them is completely understandable.
So you would fink this would be a wunnerful week for moi, as I could trust that The Childrens would not even read or even care about such dictatorial edicts, and getting out would be easy-peasy whenever the pizza delivery guy or teh police stopped by. But that was not to be.
For while I easily got out, I could not get back in and spent the week doing this:
It’s like they didn’t EVEN see me! or hear me, even when I climbed the tree and hopped on teh roof to meow into teh sky lights to let them know it was NOON, for Heaven’s Sake, and they could get outta bed – and they never even looked up once when I stuck my face in the basement window and begged – YES- begged them to put down the X Box controller and OPEN TEH DOOR. But no. Let me tell you, my Furriends, you can meow your little head off but your pitiful and adorable pleas for help are useless when you are being “taken care of” by the Ear Bud Zombie Brigade.
If i had had wifi access, I would have done a little research. This is verrah educashunal and I shall make a note of it next time teh Teens are In Charge.
But, no, I had no wifi or clean water dish, after a few days of drinking out the drain spout and eating cold cheese off pizza boxes left in teh trash, Mrs. W. comes strolling home, la dee dah, like she do,
and while I would normally shun her and should have bitten her ankles, hard, for dropping teh ball like this, instead I rolled at her feet and even climbed into bed and sniffed her head to let her know I was glad she was there. And also that it was time to feed me. Which she did, and even got out the brushie and my favorite fishy bacon and gave me a surprise sprig of Cat Nip and suddenly, all was right wif teh world.
So you know what that means, don’t you?
It’s time to go back out.
a verrah norty night-out:
Mrs. W. has made me issue a WARNING that this video is, once again, NOT Grated – (it’s not cheddar, woman, but WUTeva…) and such behavior is not approved or condoned by the members and staff at SparkySpitfire Internationale, blah, blah, blah, but enjoy it anyway.
fanks to Nelayme for posting this thought-provoking and informative vid.
Oh, hello. I didn’t see you there. Are you one of the roadies? or a guest? Cuz roadies need to go in the back entrance. Guests, I’m afraid, will just has to be patient and wait out front behind teh red velvet ropes. Sorry. We still has a lot of set up to do for my birfday.
But, since you’re here (and since you got past the Bouncer, who I’m gonna have to talk to ’bout that), why don’t you come wif me to the tree fort to see all the fun we have planned. Watch out for the Caterers. They still have a lot of ice statues to set up. Oh! Be careful. You don’t want to trip over teh cat niptini fountain. Ah, here we go. The DJ’s have arrived.
(Sounds good, but mebbe a little more bass? fanks guys)
Okay, let’s see…we also has lots of good noms on hand. My human sistah, Whozshe, just got back from NYC, where she picked up teh finest in treats at a fancy SoHo taxidermy shop (which, I fink, is French, for “Cat Deli”).
would you like a bat wing? or a freeze-dried mousie? Not cheap, that’s for sure, but we are a family of foodies, so we hate to skimp on teh finer fings in life. Besides. It’s not evaday you turn 2.
Also, we have a great entertainment lineup. I hate to spoil the surprise, but we were able to book a huge International A-lister. Let’s just say I was able to help him out of a jam wif teh INS.
oh, look! there’s his limo now. omc, look at the size of his entourage! i better go. Boy, a birfday is a lot work if you want it done right, but i also really want this party to be special – a way to say FANKS to all my bloggie friends. Looks like it will be another year o’ fun, thanks to you.
Shout outs and Purrs to all my Furry Friends,
Listen – I was zooming through the house last night; climbing bookshelves and shredding chair legs, you know, the usual low-impact cardio that keeps my engine running while I wait for some kindly teenager to march home and leave the barn door wide open for me to dash back outside- you know, a typical quiet evening, WHEN, to EVAone’s horror, Mrs. Whatsername, put down her Vodka Tonic and informed me that I “need a boyfriend.” That this would, somehow, help me “calm me teh frack down.”
Or somefing like that. Hard to tell, what with all her slurring…but now I have to know – Is that true? would Love make me dream dreamy dreams of stud muffin mancats? Would love make me go so whispy-eyed and soft focus that i forget to devour teh fishy or knock over the flowers?
Would Love put my Crazy Pants NRG to better use?
Cuz I have to admit, I do find this picture intriguing. He is verrah handsome, isn’t he? Mr. Wide Collar, there, wif his older and wiser mancat reading glasses. I’ll bet he was her Professor – Caterature or PawlySci, probably, and he wowed her wif his superior intellect and constant name-dropping of famous cats he’d met…
“really?’ she’d gush, “Lunch? at the White House? wif Socks?!’
Then he’d take a real interest in helping her broaden her horizons…he’d make vague promises of taking her on a “international conference” that really only ended up taking place in the dumpster behind teh library. Then, after a few of these private “colloquiums,” he suddenly wasn’t so interested in her “thesis” anymore. Suddenly became aloof; started grading a little harsher than was fair; suddenly became very difficult to corner. Like he was avoiding her vacant yellow-eyed stare or something.
But it was not like she was going to tell the Dean or the Administration or anything. she just wanted one more night of love! just like they used to have, the two of them, together! Once more, she promised him, and then she’d gracefully bow out of his life. So now she’s waiting for him to show up. Wif her pet piraña and teh sweet and dainty Derringer pistol she has tucked into her pretty little purse, specially for teh occassion.
“Oh. He’ll come,” she tells herself.
Teh pictures she promised to send to his wife, of their night of “research” should do teh trick.
Now, see how wrong you are again, Mrs. W? As intriguing as Love and Boyfriends and Walking Fishies may be, I really am a little too bizzy for that kind of nonsense. I have trees to climb. If Professor LeisureSuit wants to follow me up a tree, we can talk. But i do plan to leave before things get too collegial. and I get to eat teh flowers.
Good Luck, Blue Kitteh, where eva you are! Cod knows you will need it. And fanks to imgur.com for the great photo!
My brother Taffy actually has something say! And believe it or not, it may actually be interesting and relevant. AND about LOVE. Crazy, right? Let me just say I’m just as shocked as you. So here he is with a Public Service Announcement: a mancat’s point of view of the inner workings of a flower shop, just before some sort of major Romance-related holiday. Or so he says. Wif out further ado, I give you Taffy Boy, Floral Kitteh-in-Chief!
Well, he says they are verrah, VERRAH busy right now and he has a lot of supervising to do and that I should just tell you.
Kittehs! Somefing is up! Boxes are stacking up in the shop. The place is crazy full of flowers and sticks and leaves - and none – NONE! of it is nip or silver vine or anything remotely delightful like that. In fact, the whole shop smells distinctly of sticky sweet narcissus and indigestible chocolates. According to Taffs, the boxes do come loaded with things like strings and shredded papers, but the shop peeps rip right through the box, totally ignore the play-potential all around them and then “ooooh” and “ahhhhhh” about a bunch of angiosperms. He says it’s baffling.
What’s more, Humans are racing in and out of the store, bouncing into each other like ping-pong balls. Only not in the fun way. More in teh “oh, Dear Cod, help me!” kind of way. In a “roses cost HOW much?” kind of way. In a panic, more or less, Taffy says. And he would know of which he speaks. He has been chased thru the house and cornered under the kitchen sink by me, so he knows what it’s like to upset a Grrrrrl Kitteh.
Luckily, Taff sez the guys usually leave the shop more relaxed than when they came in. Something about armloads of leafy greens and red boxes wif ribbons really makes these mans feel better. Taff is not sure how, altho he suspects that someone is going to feel really playful with all that ribbon. I know I would.
The shop humans, however, continue to jump through hoops. And, again, not the fun kind. They clean, cut and arrange barrels full of flowers, wrap packages and spend hours on teh phones making promises:
“yes, I’m sure the orchids will match her dress. promise!”
“yes, I can fit all of Shakespeare’s sonnet #18 on the little card. promise!”
“yes, we can deliver it to your houseboat on the Potomac river at low tide. promise!”
“yes. she’s going to love it. promise.”
Taffy noticed, before he fell asleep in the display case, the amazing number of promises being made, on both sides of the cash register. Humans wanting a gift that promises that this fleeting moment of beauty will last in their hearts forever. And other humans running around like crazy to make it all happen.
Taff also thinks it may be a good idea for us kittehs to get on the act and make our specials friends happy. Like with a bouquet of string or a sophisticated single feather, or, for the discerning and cosmopolitan love of your life: a simple blue velvet box with a dead mousie inside. Thoughtful gifts with special meanings. And yumminess.
Just be grateful you are not shopping for Mrs. Whatsername. I have tried. Lord knows how I have tried to make that woman happy, but her heart is made of stone. Moles, mouses, cicadas – you name it. I have tried them all. So, if it’s plants and leaves she wants, it’s plants and leaves she’ll get. Next week, I plan to eat a bunch of grass and then “re-gift” it into her house slipper. So that when she bends down to cleans it up, I can give her a head bonk and we can enjoy our fleeting moment of beauty together.
Anyfing for love.
Kittehs! It’s time for the Friday Felines of the Force lesson!
first, something easy.
Now, for advanced students:
I am studying now. Gonna float those moles right outta ground. The rest of you, good lucks. And remember:
“Do or Do Not. There is no Try.”
Some of you know that my backyard is akshully all of Washington DC, and I could scurry to the Whitehouse any time I want – through the storm drain and down that hill, past the statue of the horse trying to buck the guy offa his back – but I haven’t yet, cuz I been busy. But, being so close to teh action and all does put me in a unique position to opine about the crucial inner workings of the White House. Namely, its cats.
The Oval Office has been graced by quite a few distinguished felines, but we first must honor the President who went out of his way to love kittehs in and out of the White House – the esteemed cat lover Abraham Lincoln.
The Lincolns came to the White House with the first ever First Cat, Tabby, a tabby cat just like me, so another reason I am an expert in this regard. When asked by reporters about her husband’s hobbies, Mrs. Lincoln replied “cats.” The Great Emancipator played with kittehs ”for hours.” The man had lots of works to do; saving the Union and freeing slaves and all that, and humans just can’t reach that level of Greatness without regular stress-reducing tete-a-tete negotiations and chase-the-string summits with kittehs.
White House staff was always trying to hurry Mr. Lincoln along on his busy-ness of healing the Union, but this never stopped him from playing with cats everywhere. Three weeks before the end of the war, on his way to send a telegraph to General Grant, Lincoln stopped to pick up three stray kittens. He held them in his lap, and loved on them while assistants fidgeted and cleared their throat and said, repeatedly, “Mr. President, the General is waiting…” But Mr. Lincoln only wanted to know about the kitten’s mommy. When told she was dead, the Great Emancipator replied “Then she can’t grieve as many a poor mother is grieving for a son lost in battle.” He then issued a Presidential decree that “ these poor little motherless waifs are given plenty of milk and treated kindly.”
Taking care of things smaller and sweeter than ourselves only makes it easier to take care of a whole Union of Humans, and Mr. Lincoln knew that better than anybuddy.